by Courtney Murphy | April 2020
In February, the Nisqually River reached a flood stage of 12.09 feet, the highest since the historic flood of 1996, when the river rose to 17.13 feet at the McKenna gauge.
The shorelines of many Land Trust properties underwent significant changes—the river cut away 30 feet of bank at one site, created gravel bars, gathered massive log jams, established new side channels, and put old ones out of commission. But perhaps the most common sign of the flood I’ve run into are large swaths of sand and silt the Nisqually left behind when it receded to lower levels. Two feet deep in many places, these deposits tell the story of the river’s trajectory as it swelled over its banks and flowed over the floodplain, leaving debris and the forms of ripples behind.
These sand deposits have been fun for stewardship staff and volunteers to explore, and have given us insight into the possibilities of the Nisqually’s behavior. But they’ve also given us a chance to learn about our neighbors, both human and animal, and the ways they interact with our properties and with the river.
When I came across one of these deposits at Lackamas Flats, the first thing I noticed were the tracks scattered across the sand.
Evidence of a raccoon crossing a large deposit of sand to access the Nisqually River at our Lackamas Flats Protected Area.
Stewardship staff are used to seeing certain types of tracks—we never pass up the opportunity to follow an elk trail as an alternative to bushwhacking through thick brushy forest, for example. Or maybe we see the stray deer or coyote print where the ground is soft. But the number of species and individuals crossing the flood deposits to access the river was incredible.
On the Lackamas Flats sand deposits, we identified the prints of deer, racoons, squirrels and other small rodents, many types of birds, as well as the tracks of a human neighbor and his dog. A Lackamas Flats site steward saw a paw print that another neighbor identified as a cougar track.
When I see these tracks, I can’t help but imagine scenarios surrounding who put them there. Are the many raccoon tracks a family making their way to the river to take a drink or eat insects in the sand, several unrelated raccoons throughout the night, or one individual who really knows their way around the riverbank? At another sand deposit on the Yelm Shoreline Protected Area, I saw the tracks of raccoons, deer, and an animal with very large paws using the same narrow winding trail, their prints right on top of each other. Was there a pursuit of some sort going on? Or was that somehow the most efficient trail?
Deer, raccoon, and human tracks trail throughout last year’s Nisqually River Education Project planting at Lackamas Flats. The young trees didn’t seem to enjoy the flood changes as well as the animals did.
I was struck by how the animals crossing the sand deposits seemed to ignore and skirt around our white tree protectors. While one of our primary land management goals is restoring riparian forest for fish and wildlife, the resident animals often have differing or even antithetical land management strategies.
Resident beavers love to harvest our young willows and cottonwoods as soon as they get to a healthy, well-established size so that they can create pools and dens. Elk diligently maintain trails throughout supposedly-undeveloped properties, and often don’t mind if their paths need to cross directly through a planted area. As much as it brings me joy to know animals are thriving on Land Trust property, it can be frustrating to these impacts.
However, seeing the tracks on the sand deposits, in addition to just being an interesting field experience, gave me an opportunity to think about the collaborative and ever-changing nature of our work. The recent deposits of sand and sediment preserved the ways wildlife, neighbors, and Land Trust staff interacted with and explored a landscape altered by the river, previous property owners, and our land management.
Deep tracks in dried mud at the Powell Creek Protected Area. I’d like to believe they’re from a bobcat, but it’s probably more realistic that they belong to a neighbor’s dog.
There are a lot of moving pieces when it comes to stewardship and we can’t expect things to always be consistent. As much as we try to plan for the future, sometimes the river floods and dumps two feet of sand on top of our new plantings. And sometimes stewardship staff who usually spend the majority of their time in the field must learn to work from home due to the global situation.
Despite these challenges, Land Trust staff, volunteers, neighbors, and Nisqually Watershed wildlife continue to come together to learn, explore, and grow through new experiences.